


It's Okay to Say You've Got a Weak Spot

by fooma_foolish_mortal



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Diners, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik-centric, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smitten Erik, Sputnik, Technically Takes Place In 1957, The Iron Giant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 17:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16100618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fooma_foolish_mortal/pseuds/fooma_foolish_mortal
Summary: Erik finds himself living in Rockwell, Maine while he investigates a lead on a Nazi scientist. An explosion at the local electrical substation confirms his suspicions. His desire to stick around has nothing to do with one Charles Xavier, his mysteriously acquired son Hank, or an apparently genius intellect with a half finished degree in genetics. Nothing at all.





	It's Okay to Say You've Got a Weak Spot

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've had for years, and I'm finally deciding to pursue it. The Iron Giant AU no one ever asked for.

_**Eins.** _

Erik tries. He always tries. He strains and works and hopes that it will end differently this time. 

_**Zwei.**_

This time he’ll grasp the control he needs to lift a small coin resting atop a mahogany desk.

_**Drei.** _

He cringes when the gun goes off. Always the same, always a failure. The scene changes before he can sense the metal around him and crush it with his agony. The new setting is almost worse. Almost. He screams as a ceramic knife that he has no power over carves into him, sobs as the man above him sneers and laughs. He failed.

Erik wakes with a start, heart pumping too fast and covered in sweat. The metal walls around him are bent and twisted. He stares at the warped metal, chest heaving, before sitting up, legs firm on the floor. He fixes it with a flick of his fingers and a groan of metal while he rubs his hands over his eyes. A glance at the clock tells him he’s up early again. Erik stretches and shuffles over to his coffee maker. Tired eyes survey the wretched machine and the less than ideal coffee he should put in it. Making an impulsive decision, he pulls on his clothes and calls his keys to his hand. He steps out of his humble abode into the dim light just before dawn and climbs into his old truck. He drives to the Diner still half asleep.

The Diner is nearly empty when he arrives. The sky has yet to turn pink and orange with the arrival of dawn and it’s still a bit early for breakfast. He finds that he’s pleased to see Charles behind the counter. Erik dismisses the content feeling curled in his chest when he sees the waiter; he can’t form any attachments. He’ll surely be moving on soon. It’s not worth it. Even if his heart jumps when Charles looks up at him and gives a startled smile.

“Erik!” Charles greets him as he takes a seat at the counter. It’s only a moment before Charles turns and incredulous eye to his disheveled appearance. “You look awful. Trouble sleeping?”

Erik glances down to his creased jeans and rumpled turtleneck while he runs a hand through his messy hair. “Nightmares,” he answers gruffly, his voice still rough with sleep. He briefly wonders if he has dark circles beneath his eyes, to complete his fatigued appearance.

“That’s unfortunate. I can sympathize, although it’s been years since I was plagued with them. Such nasty, disruptive things,” Charles almost appears to be lost in thought for a moment, a hand rubbing at his left forearm over the fabric of his uniform, “I hope you start sleeping better! You really do look exhausted; you look worse than Hank, my son, does when he doesn’t get enough sleep. I wish I could help,” Charles finishes as he pours coffee into a cup he got from beneath the counter.

Erik takes the coffee gratefully and tries to stop pondering the enigma that is Charles. But he can’t do the type of work he does without having astute observational skills and an almost unnatural sense for secrets, and Charles isn’t particularly proficient in the art of subtlety. So, by no fault of his own, Erik can’t help but notice how Charles gripped his arm at the mention of past nightmares as though feeling the phantom pain of injury, or how Charles hesitated before calling the aforementioned Hank his son. He can’t even dismiss the almost wistful tone of his last sentence when Charles sounded genuinely apologetic he couldn’t assist with Erik’s nightmares. His peculiar behavior was not helping Erik remain indifferent. He could hardly believe he had told the truth about his own nightmares in the first place. He tries to be more alarmed at how much he seems to trust the unassuming waiter before him. He’s unsuccessful.

“You have a son?” Erik can’t stop himself from asking, the unwarranted hesitancy was too intriguing.

“Oh, yes, I suppose. He was my friend’s son. I adopted him a little over a year ago,” Charles shifts uncomfortably. Erik almost feels as though he should offer some pointers on how to lie convincingly. Charles’ attempt was really rather pathetic. He did, however, decide to drop the subject. They continue to talk amiably over Erik’s coffee until the Diner starts to fill and Erik moves himself to a booth and actually orders food.

The sun has emerged from the horizon fully when a tall, gangly boy with a shoebox clutched in his hands walks in. Erik wouldn’t have spared the young boy a second glance if he hadn’t made a bee line for Charles. Erik watches the exchange over the top of his newspaper. The young boy, who Erik presumes was Charles’ so-called son, gesticulates wildly with excitement while Charles watches in mild amusement. Erik tears his eyes away and refocuses on his newspaper. It wouldn’t bode well for Charles to catch him staring.

His focus, however, remains torn. So, he notices the excitement on the boy’s face change abruptly to guilt after peaking inside the shoebox, and he certainly notices the boy’s eyes follow a small dark shape sprint across the diner and attempt to run directly up his pant leg. His arms shoot down to quickly grab the animal and he carefully boxes it into his rather large hands. When he looks up from his hands, where he can feel unhappy scrabbling and nibbling, the young boy stands directly in front of him.

“Sorry,” the boy fidgets, the same guilty look plastered to his face, “It’s just that I found a black squirrel. It’s jet-black too, not just brown-black. You don’t see squirrels with two copies of a mutant, melanocytic pigment gene every day! Although they’re really not that uncommon, just about one in 10,000. But I still thought Charles would at least appreciate the sentiment, because, you know, he’s a geneticist,” the kid avoids eye contact, an embarrassed air about him.

“It’s fine, really. No harm done,” Erik attempts to console the boy. Perhaps a change of topic would ease the kid, “Did you say Charles was a geneticist?” Maybe his motives for changing the subject were due more to curiosity than concern, whatever.

“Yeah! He’s amazing, too. Probably a genius!” Hank grins at Erik. He opens his mouth, undoubtedly to continue raving about Charles, when the man himself appears behind him.  
“I’m sorry Hank’s bothering you, Erik,” his tone genuinely apologetic, but his face is tense, almost scared. He sends Hank off to retrieve the squirrel's box. Erik narrows his eyes in confusion; there shouldn’t be any reason for fear.

“I didn’t know you were a geneticist,” Erik probes, keeping his voice light.

“I’m not. Not technically, at least. I was about to be, but I had to leave my university. Hank considers me one because I’ve taught him quite a bit,” Charles chuckles.  
“You’ve taught him? He looks a little young for genetics lessons,” Erik asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Hank is smarter than his clumsy first impression indicates,” he smiles at Erik as Hank makes his way back to Erik’s booth and holds out the cardboard shoe box for the squirrel. Hank leaves to release the rodent with a rushed thank you to Erik, and Charles returns to the counter with an equally awkward, but significantly more adorable, goodbye. Erik returns to his light breakfast and newspaper with a slight smirk, his eyes occasionally drifting to Charles working behind the counter. He feels that it would have been a very nice morning, if not for the idiots sitting at the next booth down.

“Did you hear about the explosion last night?” Erik hears the first idiot ask his friend in a loud whisper.

“There was an explosion? Where? I was sleeping like a baby all night!”

“At the electrical substation, down at the edge of the woods. That’s not the crazy part though. I heard from Tim, who happened to be out in that area with a certain lady friend who he wouldn’t name, that it wasn’t a normal explosion,” the stupid man continued with his mockery of a whisper, his eyes wide and his hands flailing.

“It wasn’t a **normal** explosion?”

“No, Tim said he saw strange red rings crash into the substation, doing some substantial damage. ‘Rings of brutal energy’ he described them as, said he had never seen anything like it.”

“What caused it though? Did Tim see anything besides magic energy rings, because he always tends be on the dramatic side,” the second man had a skeptical look on his face. Erik had never been a fan of small town gossip.

“That’s the thing. The only thing Tim saw was a person, far away and backlit, so he couldn’t see any detail. And, yeah, Tim is dramatic, but he ain’t a liar. It sounds like we have a freak monster in the area. Who knows who this guy is, or how he’s destroying things. We have to be careful.”

Erik stands abruptly, deciding he had finished enough of his breakfast. That sounded like it had the potential to be a mutant, and he didn’t want to sit here and listen to those two idiots talk about the monster that had shown up in town to destroy everything. If there really was a mutant out there, potentially out of control and desperate, he needed to find them. Maybe this town wasn’t a false lead after all.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is pulled from I An Not a Robot by Marina and the Diamonds


End file.
